8

VIC

“ W hatever’s going down, we want to be part of it.” Chad Samuels from the Low Rangers Motorcycle Club strode into the office Vic shared with Ross. He was a big man, probably six foot, five inches, with broad shoulders and tattooed, muscular arms. Even though gray peppered his dark, curly mane and beard, he looked like he could go a few rounds with just about anyone and come out on top.

“I was Carter’s top lieutenant, and now I’m in charge. This was our fight first—and we want to finish it.”

Vic blinked. “What do you mean?”

Samuels fixed him with a glare. “ The curse. The deal. Whatever that thing is that’s been taking my people. I hear you’ve been asking questions, and so has that professor who talks to ghosts down on the boardwalk. This has been a plague on us for decades, and if there’s a way to make it stop, me and my boys want in.”

“I thought your folks had made peace with the situation,” Ross said in a dry tone.

“When you think you don’t have choices, you make the best of it,” Samuels retorted. “When you find out there’s an option, things change.” He had a whisky rasp to his voice and smelled like Marlboros.

Vic looked to Ross, who shrugged.

“The plans are still coming together. I’ll give you the overview. If you still want in, there’s a place for you. If not, all I ask is don’t get in our way.” Vic gestured for Samuels to have a seat.

“That’s fair.”

Vic walked him through the discovery of the creature’s identity, how ancient he was, the role of the lighthouses, and how they had helped to constrain the troll.

“Once the lighthouses weren’t manned anymore, the protections faded, and the troll ran amok. He’s been cheating on your deal by snatching homeless folks that don’t get counted,” Vic said. “We’ve found a way to renew the power of the lighthouses that should bring the creature to heel—and break your club’s deal.”

Samuels looked at him. “A troll. They’re real?”

“Apparently so. Ancient—as in, he was here before the pilgrims came. There are tales about a being like that in the lore of the native tribes along the coast. The tribes say he was already here when they first arrived. For all we know he woke when the continent rose,” Vic replied.

“You keep saying protections and wardings—you’re talking about some sort of magic, aren’t you?” Samuels cocked his head and gave Vic a knowing look.

Vic nodded. “Yes. As well as ghosts and people with paranormal abilities.”

“Well, fuck. Hot damn.”

Ross looked bemused. “You’re taking this pretty well.”

“My club’s been sacrificing to a monster. I’ve got demon bells on my bike and tats to ward off evil, and my lady runs the club coven. I don’t understand how supernatural shit works, but I know it’s real.”

Vic let out a relieved breath. Having Samuels on board with the concept made things easier.

“I’ll let Simon—the professor on the boardwalk—know,” Vic said. “If your coven wants to play a role, I can get them in touch with him. We believe the troll will try to strike back and stop the ritual. So if the club is willing to provide security, we could use the help. As I understand it, we need some people at the lighthouses, at the shop where some of the witches will be sending us power, and at the homeless shelters.”

“The shelters?” Samuels raised an eyebrow.

“The troll has been poaching unhoused people, and if he feels under attack and has enough energy, he might gobble up more than usual for the power boost,” Ross said. “We’re trying to spread the word that there have been attacks, so people are safer in the shelters.”

“I can see that,” Samuels agreed. “But my folks can’t fight a troll. If we could, we’d have never agreed to that stupid deal.”

“You can hold a protective line if our friends provide the wardings,” Vic said. “We can show you how.”

Samuels nodded. “Okay. We can do that. And I’ll ask my lady if the coven would help. If she says yes, I’ll put her in touch.” He rose and extended his hand. Vic gave a firm shake.

“If this gets us out of that damn deal, you’ve done us a solid. We will remember,” Samuels told him before he turned and left.

Vic looked to Ross. “Well, that spared me an awkward phone call.” He went to refill his coffee. “I needed to ask for their help, and I wasn’t sure that would go well. I’m glad they’re on our side—at least for this.”

“Strange bedfellows and all that,” Ross agreed. “We will need to come up with a caution statement for the shelters that gets attention without starting a Grand Strand serial killer rumor.”

“I’m working on it.” Vic returned to his desk. “I think we can work with threats, reports, and sources. As in, reports from sources that have documented threats against people living on the streets. We are recommending that those without housing go to shelters until the danger is past.”

“Wow—you’re good at saying something without actually saying anything,” Ross joked. Vic threw a wad of paper at him.

“It’s a gift. Except it never worked on my mother.”

“We ought to run it by Cap, just in case,” Ross said. “It’s vague enough I can’t see him having a problem with it, and that should keep the media from swooping in looking for a spree killer.”

“That was my thought,” Vic agreed. “This is coming together fast. If we can get his buy-in this afternoon, we can put out a notice to the agencies by end of day. That gives them tomorrow to pull folks in and get them settled before the shit hits the fan.”

“I assume when this goes down, you’re going to be with Simon at the lighthouses?” Ross didn’t make it a question.

Vic sobered quickly and took a sip of the hot, strong coffee before he answered. “It’s where I need to be. Someone has to watch his back—and pull him back from the brink, if it comes to that. He can lose track in the moment and go all-in.”

“Yeah, you have that in common.” Ross raised an eyebrow.

“I admit it. And he’s had my six when I needed it. Goes with the rings.” Vic raised his left hand and wiggled the fingers. He spent the next half-hour drafting and refining the notice to the homeless organizations before passing it to Ross for his opinion. Then Vic printed a copy and went to speak with the captain.

“I’ve heard rumors that people were disappearing under the radar,” Hargrove said after he had read the paper. “Nothing official, but people who have an outreach to those folks have been concerned for a while. Of course, if you can’t document names and places, there’s nothing the cops can do.”

“We believe the creature is smart enough to find the most vulnerable people—the chronically unsheltered—and go after them as easy pickin’s,” Vic replied. “I hate smart monsters, human or otherwise.”

“Amen, brother,” Hargrove muttered. “I like how you worded this, so it’s a warning without setting off a major panic and landing on the six o’clock news.”

“That’s the goal,” Vic said. “If we release this to the specific agencies involved, it will at least buy some time, maybe, before a news van shows up and they give the killer a hashtag.”

Hargrove passed a hand over his eyes. “Oh, God. Just shoot me now.” He handed the paper back to Vic. “I assume there’s a plan?”

“Working on it.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Would you prefer plausible deniability?” Vic asked, only partly joking.

“Will it involve explosions?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Do you think the media will catch wind of it? Because there’s nothing they can’t turn into a panic,” Hargrove grumbled.

“I think we can spin it as a New Age Wiccan Halloween blessing if anyone asks,” Vic answered. “With motorcycle gang escort.”

“You’re going.” Hargrove didn’t even make it a question.

“Gotta watch over my guy.” Vic shrugged. “Because he’s got the self-preservation instincts of a brave dodo. He’ll get busy saving the world and forget to live through it unless he’s got me.”

“That would be a great loss. Just do me a favor—try to stay low visibility. I don’t want to explain to the City Council.”

Vic grinned. “I can handle that.”

Hargrove met his gaze. “You think this will work?”

Vic sobered. “I sure as hell hope so. Simon’s got a pretty powerful coalition. And we know the troll was bound before. If they could do it back then, we can do it now. I hope.”

“I like the part about using the motorcycle club for security,” Hargrove said. “They’ve got skin in the game, and if the creature has accomplices, they’ll think twice after they see the backup.”

Vic was amused that the captain didn’t bring himself to say troll but knew better than to make a comment.

“It’s the same reason I’m going along with Simon, even though I’ve got zero magic. When the witches are deep into concentrating on raising the power and directing it toward what they need to do, they can’t pay attention to what’s around them. Despite all that magic, they’re vulnerable,” Vic explained. “It’s really not like in the movies.”

“Be careful,” Hargrove said in a gruff tone. “I don’t have time to recruit a replacement.”

Vic took that as the benediction it was meant to be. “Yes, sir.”

When he got back to the office, Ross made a shooing motion. “Go home. I’ll finish up. Spend some time with your boy before the big showdown. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vic gave him a wave and a grateful salute, grabbed his messenger bag, and slipped out the door.

Simon wouldn’t be home yet, so Vic stopped to pick up some extra outdoor light strings for the bungalow’s Halloween decorations and called ahead to order dinner so neither of them had to cook. While he walked through the seasonal aisle at the home improvement store, he also spotted a cute Christmas gnome.

“For luck,” he muttered to himself as he tossed it into his basket. Buying a Christmas decoration assumed they would both be here to deck the halls.

Vic had grown up around cops and knew they all had their rituals and superstitions. Since learning more about the supernatural from Simon, Vic came to realize that those protective patterns had some home-spun magic to them and were more than just feel-good busywork.

He hoped the gnome counted.

Simon and I just got married. I want us both to live to a ripe old age and not get sucked into a vortex. Or poofed by a troll.

Vic still beat Simon back home. He set the light strings on top of the box of other decorations that took up space in the dining room and put the bag of Thai food in the middle of the kitchen table, wrapped in dish towels to stay warm.

Just as Vic finished setting out the plates and silverware, Simon arrived. He swept Vic into his arms for a kiss, and held on just a little longer than usual, pressed tight.

“I love coming home to you.” Simon pressed in for another kiss. “And you picked up dinner?”

Vic reluctantly let go. “Figured there was enough going on; someone else could cook.”

“There are so many reasons I love you.” Simon’s voice sounded teasing, but Vic read the emotions in his eyes.

He’s just as worried as I am over everything. We’re both whistling in the dark.

“Go ahead and sit down. Everything’s ready.” Vic set out glasses of water. “I stopped at the store on the way home, so we have enough lights to decorate.”

“And you randomly picked up a good luck holiday gnome?” Simon raised an eyebrow, and Vic knew he was busted.

“Figured it couldn’t hurt.” He turned away, knowing that Simon probably understood far too well.

“Talk to me.” Simon confirmed Vic’s guess. “Is this about the lighthouse gathering?”

Vic shrugged. “It’s about me wanting to keep you safe, even though this is a threat that’s way above my pay grade. So I’m going to do what I can do and hope it’s enough.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Simon turned to take Vic into his arms. “Once I’m caught up in the incantation, it’s going to be my whole focus. I feel like I’m leaving you vulnerable.”

“That’s why you need someone watching your back,” Vic reminded him. “Because you do lose track of everything, and I can make sure the troll doesn’t take advantage of that.”

“You’re crazy and brave, and I love you.” Simon leaned in to kiss Vic. “Which is also why I’m afraid to risk you.”

Vic kissed him back, taking control, trying to say with his body what he didn’t always find words to express. I need you. You mean everything to me. I can’t lose you.

“If something goes wrong, I want to be there to put it right,” Vic told him. “If something comes after you, I intend to stop it. What you’re doing is going to save hundreds of lives. But mostly, it’s because wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Wherever. ”

He let the emphasis make it clear to Simon that included the Valley of the Shadow.

“I don’t think it’s going to come to that,” Simon replied, all playfulness gone from his voice. “If I did, I’d fight harder to keep you away.”

“If you tried, I’d still follow.” Vic lifted a hand to trail his fingers down the side of Simon’s face. “And I hope it doesn’t come to that. But whatever happens, I’ll have your back.”

They separated reluctantly, realizing the food was getting cold. After the seriousness of the last discussion, conversation lagged as they ate until Vic spoke up.

“The new leader of the Low Rangers who took over for Carter Edwards is totally on board with them being security for the homeless shelters, the store, and anywhere else you need them. They have a lot of members, so that gives you some backup.”

“He was okay with everything?” Simon looked as surprised as Vic had felt.

“Turns out he’s married to the witch who heads up the club’s coven. Who knew, right?” Vic told him. “He’s going to ask her if the coven will lend support so you could end up with more witches.”

Simon looked surprised. “Wow. I had no idea. That would be great. We need all the help we can get.”

After dinner, Vic found an empty corner for the gnome while Simon added the new light strings to what they had already hung. They would wait to put up the big inflatable dragon until trick-or-treat night.

“I can’t believe it’s almost Halloween,” Vic said. “Not just on account of the lighthouse situation, but how fast the year has gone. It always feels like we barely get the pumpkins taken down when it’s time to put up the Christmas tree.” He couldn’t help crossing his fingers that nothing would derail their holiday plans.

“Hey, let’s not lose the time we have right now worrying about the future.” Simon’s voice cut through Vic’s worries, especially when Simon went to his knees right there in the kitchen and pressed his face against Vic’s groin.

“I like your idea of a distraction.” Vic’s heartbeat sped up as Simon mouthed along the denim before flipping his button open and easing the zipper down. “Very…effective.”

“Must not be.” Simon pressed his lips against Vic’s briefs. “You’re still talking.”

Vic caught his breath as Simon shoved jeans and briefs down in one move, and his already-hard cock sprang to attention. Simon nuzzled Vic’s package, and then kisses turned to licking before he swallowed him down as far as he could.

“Oh, fuck,” Vic gasped, gripping Simon’s shoulders as Simon bobbed and licked enthusiastically. “So good.”

Vic was getting close, and Simon slipped his hand beneath Vic’s balls, fondling them and teasing his taint.

Vic came, shouting Simon’s name, bucking against his mouth and grinding into his hand. Simon rode it out with him, swallowing as much as he could and licking Vic through the aftershocks when he finished.

“Oh, God. That was?—”

Simon chuckled. “Glad you enjoyed it.” He pulled off his T-shirt to clean them off before tucking Vic back into his jeans.

“I want to return the favor,” Vic growled.

“Too late. I already came. Now I’m sticky.” Simon rose, grimaced at the wet spot in his underwear, and leaned in to give Vic a kiss. “Shower with me?”

Vic happily agreed, and they took their time under the warm water, rubbing out knots in sore shoulders and touching all over until they were both hard again. This time, Vic took their cocks in hand and worked them to release.

“Best dessert ever,” Simon sighed as they dried off, sated and warm.

They slipped under the sheets, pressing close together in bed. Vic wrapped his arms around Simon protectively. We’ll figure this out. I’ll keep you safe. Somehow.

That night, Vic’s dreams were dark, but inside the heavily warded house where the troll couldn’t reach, he knew they were fed not by magic but by his own misgivings. He startled awake, although Simon didn’t stir.

They’re just dreams. Not even projections from the troll. My imagination and fears running wild.

Not a prophecy or a sending. Not fated or pre-ordained. We can change it. Stop the troll. Save people, and protect Simon.

All we need is some magic—and a little luck.

The next morning, after a repeat of the previous night’s sexy times, Vic reluctantly left for the office.

“Keep me posted,” he told Simon. “And don’t get second thoughts about sneaking off without me. I’m going with you. End of story, period, that’s all she wrote.”

Simon chuckled despite the serious topic. “Okay. I get it. Together forever. And…thank you. Love you—stay safe.”

“You too.” Vic forced himself not to turn around before he got to the Hayabusa and roared away. He made sure his guardian bells were in place and that the sigils that Simon had marked in clear paint were unbroken.

Vic rode with extra caution. If the troll suspected that he was about to be challenged or constrained, he was likely to strike first. Vic and Simon wore protection, but the people around them were vulnerable to a powerful supernatural creature capable of creating illusions and using great strength.

Then again, if the troll overplayed his magic in plain view, it might attract too much attention. Vic hoped that meant that throwing cars around and breaking overpasses were out. That still left plenty of dangerous possibilities, like collapsing walls.

In the short drive between the bungalow and the office, the tow hitch broke on the SUV in front of Vic, setting a lawn equipment trailer loose, fishtailing across the lane.

Swearing under his breath, Vic swerved, narrowly avoiding the flatbed as well as oncoming traffic.

He pulled off to the side of the street a block later to catch his breath and still his hammering heart. The hapless SUV driver was claiming loudly to anyone who would listen that he had a chain and a padlock on the hitch that had somehow vanished.

Vic didn’t doubt him and chalked the incident up to another warning from the troll.

When his nerves steadied, Vic scanned the parking lot at the station before dismounting from his bike but didn’t see anyone loitering. He called Simon, who reacted immediately to something he must have heard in Vic’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” Simon sounded ready to drive over that very second.

“I’m okay.” Vic cut to the chase. “But I think the troll sent another message.” He told Simon about the incident and waited while Simon worked through his vocabulary of swear words.

“But you’re safe?” Simon asked, and Vic understood his need for reassurance.

“The bike and I are just fine. Not even a scratch. I feel bad for the SUV guy, but he’s never going to be able to explain a troll to his insurance company.”

“I’m not sure how to ward us when we are in open territory,” Simon admitted. “I’ll call Gabriella and see if she has any ideas. Please—don’t leave the office unless you have to, and be careful. I love you.”

“I will. You, too. Love you.”

When he stepped inside, Ross grabbed him before he had even finished pouring his coffee.

“I’ll take your cup into the office. You’ve got someone waiting for you,” Ross told him.

“Samuels?”

“Pretty sure it’s his witchy girlfriend, Maret. I guess she decided to join the team. She’s in the conference room. Already offered coffee.”

“Thanks.” Vic headed to join her.

Vic snuck a glance on the security camera board to get a look at his visitor before entering the room. The only description that fit was motorcycle goth. Maret looked to be in her early thirties, somewhat younger than Samuels, with dark hair tinted magenta toward the ends. Slender and tall, she wore a fringed black leather biker jacket, black jeans, and real-deal short leather boots that weren’t a fashion statement.

He opened the door and tried to look like a safe contact. “Ms. Maret? I’m Detective D’amato.” Vic knew from Simon that the names witches used in public were not their real names, a way to protect themselves from those who would try to gain power over them.

Maret looked up. “Detective. Thank you for seeing me. Chad spoke well of you.” Her raspy voice suggested she shared her partner’s fondness for cigarettes, and she smelled of menthol and verbena.

Vic moved to sit down across from her. “He spoke highly of you too. Thank you for coming to the station. How can I help?”

Up close, Vic revised his guestimate to be late thirties. She had a protective tattoo on the side of her neck, and more ink peeked from the neckline of her shirt. A Helm of Awe circle covered the back of her right hand, with an additional Norse rune on the top of each finger. On her left hand, the symbol of the goddess overlay a pentacle within a circle.

Rings of braded silver adorned her hands, which had long nails painted midnight purple. Maret wore several silver charms on chains around her neck, and Vic recognized the designs as ones Simon often inscribed. By all the measures Vic knew to look for, Maret seemed legit.

“Chad told me that the creature the club made their deal with isn’t a demon, it’s a troll, and that you know people who can bind it,” she replied, skeptical and challenging.

“That’s right. I don’t have magic, but my husband and his friends do. He’s pulling together a coalition of people from different magical traditions to work the incantation that originally created the lighthouses’ protection. That can’t destroy the troll, but it should limit the harm he can do.” Vic didn’t bat an eye, which seemed to surprise her.

Maret glanced at the ring on Vic’s left hand and then gave him a measured look. “Magic and gay cops. What’s the world coming to?”

Despite Maret’s attitude, Vic liked her and suspected that at least some of her confrontational approach was defensive.

“Samuels said you head up the club’s coven and might be interested in helping stop the troll. I’ve already mentioned you to Simon, who is gathering the team, and he said you and yours would be welcome.” Vic held his breath, unsure whether Maret had come to scoff or was open to joining the effort.

“What would we have to do?” Maret’s body language signaled mistrust. Vic didn’t blame her. Cops weren’t usually in the habit of recruiting witches. He considered it to be a minor miracle she had even shown up to hear him out.

“A core group is going to North Island to work the incantation that created the protections over a hundred years ago. The spells gradually lost power when there stopped being live-in lighthouse keepers to renew the wardings. This should restore the protections, which limits the troll—among other things.”

“Visitors aren’t allowed on North Island,” Maret challenged.

“Simon’s got connections,” Vic replied. “While he and the core group are doing that, any other witches, wiccans, root workers, and folks who want to lend their power to the effort are gathering at his store on the boardwalk. The club has agreed to protect that location, as well as heading off trouble around the homeless shelters, where the troll has been snacking between offerings.”

“Yeah, he told me. Can’t say I was thrilled that he agreed, but he does as he pleases.” She shrugged. “Can you drop any names of these witchy types? Maybe I’ve heard of them.”

Vic met her gaze, knowing that she was testing both his knowledge and the legitimacy of the effort. “Miss Eppie, a local root worker. Gabriella Hernandez, who owns the botanica. Their friends with abilities. The retired nuns from St. Cyprian’s. And from Charleston, the St. Expeditus Society, and a witch named Rowan.”

Maret raised an eyebrow and dropped the attitude. “Holy shit. They’re the real deal. How the fuck?—”

“Simon’s the real deal too,” Vic replied. “They’re his network. We’ve worked together before.”

Maret tapped her long nails on the table. “You know, I thought I’d come here and bust your chops about fake magic and feeding the club a line of bullshit. But damned if you actually know what the hell you’re talking about. Good on you. This might work—and your folks might live through it.”

“That’s the plan.” Vic was careful not to let anything Maret said get under his skin. Despite her skepticism, he sensed she had real power and hoped she would agree to help.

“Chad told me about the club being the muscle,” Maret added. “They’d better not be cannon fodder.”

Vic shook his head. “No, ma’am. Simon plans to provide protective amulets to everyone who wants one, as well as setting up their area with wardings to keep the troll at a distance. He’s hoping there’s no confrontation and that the creature focuses on the witches at the lighthouse. The club is acting as security in case the troll can manipulate humans to do its bidding and attack. Basic crowd control.”

Maret didn’t respond immediately, but her posture eased, and Vic sensed that his answers surprised her. If she wasn’t exactly pleased, at least she hadn’t gotten angry.

“What’s the catch? I get Chad thinks the club owes you one for looking into Carter’s death. But what about my folks? What do we owe you?”

“Nothing.” Vic tried not to sound impatient. “We all get to live troll-free as long as the protections and wardings are replenished. Just a bunch of people with special abilities stopping a common threat.”

“Jesus, you make it sound like you’re assembling a team of comic book superheroes.” Maret rolled her eyes. Vic got the insight that she was enjoying sparring with him and that if she hadn’t decided to join them, she’d have already left. “We don’t have to wear matching Spandex super suits, do we? Because I have standards.”

Vic stifled a smile. “No matching outfits aside from your club jackets. I promise.”

Maret gave a sharp nod. “All right then. You’ve got some witches on your side—this time. Where do you need us and when?”

“Is there a way I can contact you? Simon is firming up those details. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes to pull this together.”

“You have Chad’s number?” Vic shook his head. She read out the digits. “Call Chad. He knows how to reach me, and I’ll call you back.”

Vic understood her caution. She probably had plenty of bad experiences with cops. He could work around that. “It’ll be in the next day or two, so stay close.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be one hell of an adventure.” Maret gave a cocky smile. “Nice talking with you, Detective.”

At that, she got up and walked out as if daring him to detain her. Vic understood why she and Samuels were a pair. They suited each other, both full of piss and vinegar.

Vic headed back to his office and his now-cold coffee.

“Well?” Ross asked.

“We’ve got ourselves a coven of motorcycle witches.” Vic guzzled the coffee and refilled the cup, pausing to savor the smell of the warm brew.

“Congratulations?”

Vic shrugged. “Simon and the others are messing around with primordial energies between the troll and the natural power wellspring that the lighthouses feed into. It’s a big deal to try to use magic to harness those forces. Maybe a little hubris, even. I’m in favor of anything that helps tip the scales in their favor.”

Vic did his best to project confidence, and the addition of the coven was a definite win, but he couldn’t shake his worry. He remembered stories his grandmother used to tell about the ancient heroes daring to try to bend the gods to their will or take control of power never meant for mortals to wield. Those stories rarely went well, and the victories were hard won.

This time around, Vic sincerely hoped the old myths were wrong.